


Dawnward Bound

by katajainen



Series: Season of Kink 2019: LOTR edition [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Time, Marriage in the elven way, Necessary silence, Semi-Public Sex, Silence Kink, smut with feels, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 05:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20830421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: As the fleet prepares to sail from Pelargir, Arwen has had enough of waiting.Or: the end of a very long engagement.





	Dawnward Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Set in my Arwen-rides-south-with-the-Grey-Company AU, or, the same as [ Caught by the First Winter's Chill.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550988)
> 
> Fills the Gags/silence square of my [Season of Kink bingo card.](https://katajainen.dreamwidth.org/23412.html)
> 
> ETA: as always, many thanks to saraste for the beta and all the keysmash comments ♥

After many a dawnless day, nightfall was merely a deeper kind of darkness resting upon the shores of Pelargir. But the lordship over the harbour and the city had changed since the sun was last seen; the Heir of Isildur had come in his terrible strength, scattering the corsairs and capturing near all of the fleet that had so harried the shorelands of Lebennin.

All of the black-sailed ships he had ordered to be fitted for travel upstream, and the largest among them he had claimed for his own. It was the first to be readied, and now lay in anchor, fully rigged and provisioned, while the docks were still busy with work.

Aragorn had walked the length and breadth of the vessel, hands testing, eyes checking, and Arwen had thought of all the years he would scarcely speak of, short in her memory, yet long for a mortal, and had wondered if perhaps this was not the first time he was abroad such ship. Wolf-like it was, and made for speed; for all its size it rode light and high upon the water, dancing easy with the rocking waves of Anduin.

He was standing at the prow, watching the river, when she came up behind him, her feet following the shift of the deck as easily as the sway of a branch in light breeze.

‘I have sent the watchman ashore,’ she said softly, and leaned against his back, resting her chin on his shoulder. Behind them, the small boat barely made a noise as it glid towards the shore. ‘We are alone on board until morning, unless you would have it otherwise.’

For a long moment, he did not speak, but held still in her embrace. 'Will you tell me your reason?' he then asked.

She pressed both of her hands over his heart, and his coat of mail was cold against her skin. 'I have little claim to the foresight of my father,' she admitted, 'but tonight, beneath this cloud that's neither fog or rain, but of the foul storm of the enemy… tonight our fate feels to hang upon a balance, willing to tip this way or that on a touch of a breeze.' She paused, and his hands covered hers, rough and warm and weather-worn. 'I have waited enough.’ she said plainly, leaning very close to him, her lips almost grazing his ear. ‘Long years I have waited for you, Elessar, my love, my hope, and I would wait for longer, but for the battle we face on the morrow.'

‘Your father set a condition to our marriage,’ he reminded her, and for a moment she feared he might be so honour-bound as to refuse her. ‘You agreed to it then,’ he said, ‘but not now. I will not question your judgement, if in turn you're willing to satisfy my curiosity. What has passed that would change the heart of Evenstar?'

'That she saw an undead host cursed for years beyond counting, and witnessed them do the bidding of the Heir of Isildur,' she said. How fierce and terrible had he been in his power, and how she had wanted him then. How she still wanted him, remembering. 'I deem you worthy, my King, and would bind myself to you.'

'Beloved,' he whispered, that single, awe-struck word, and nothing more.

For a while they stood thus in the deepening darkness, her arms tight around his spare, wire-hard frame, wrapped in a cloak of her grand-mother's making. Unspoken, an agreement felt to pass between them, and so, her breath held fast behind her teeth, she let her hand stray; down onto his thigh, and from there up again, beneath his armour. His trousers were of thick wool, but she could make out a raised shape beneath the cloth that stirred to her touch.

As she loosened his clothing one-handed, she nuzzled aside his hair and kissed the side of his neck; even after the local hospitality, she could still smell their long, rushed journey on his skin: dust and smoke and horses, the salty tang of sweat. She tasted the warm soft skin behind his ear with the tip of her tongue and felt a shiver run through him, and he gasped aloud as she closed her fingers around his length.

‘Hush,’ she whispered into his ear and covered his mouth. ‘It may be dark, but sound carries over water.’

He smiled into her palm, and made no other sound, but tilted his hips into her touch. 

Carefully, she learned the shape of him, stroking fingertips over warm and impossibly smooth skin, reaching down and down, until she found a cooler weight that fit perfectly into her palm. He shivered again as she caressed short curling hair and silken skin, and his breath came fast and sharp, trapped into the cup of her hand. Passion flared bright within her at the feel of it, and she pushed her hips tight against him, pressing her mouth flush to his neck to smother the low sound of need that rose from her own throat.

Then, he touched at her hand and gently pried it off his mouth.

‘Would you not lie down with me?’ he asked, and his voice was deep and rough, trembling through her bones.

Together they curled into the lee of the ship’s high-arching prow, and he drew her into his lap. ‘Now I can see you,’ he whispered. His eyes caught glittering flecks off the ship’s stern lantern far behind her.

‘It is too dark,’ she countered, but he merely shook his head, ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her long and deep, and with great passion, until she was flushing hot and tingling simply from the feel of his mouth against her own, and a sweet ache was growing between her legs.

His hand moved up on her thigh beneath her jacket, then stopped at the top of her leggings.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, breaking the kiss. ‘Please.’

She gasped aloud as he first touched her.

‘Sound carries,’ he whispered. She snorted, but closed her mouth tight, shivering at each delicate pass of his rough-skinned fingers, biting her own hand when he pushed them into her.

It was… more than she had ever felt, yet not quite enough. Rising up on her knees, she moved against him, pressing herself tight against the heel of his hand, and had to bite her teeth tight to stay the moan that willed out. For that was– good, and she did it again, and it was even better.

She chased that feeling until she couldn’t any more, until she arched against him, shaking and silent, her breath locked and shut in her throat. Because she wanted to cry out her passion, and she couldn’t, and somehow that made it last longer, raising a fresh wave of pleasure for each sound she did not make.

Finally, she gulped down a long shuddering breath, and kissed him; on his mouth, on his cheeks, then his mouth again, and her hips twitched one more time, with his hand still pressed tight against her. ‘I want you like this,’ she whispered, lips brushing over his, and tugged at her clothes. But she soon found she could not pull her leggings down and remain where she was, and made an annoyed huff.

‘Perhaps there would be something to recommend doing this in a room with a bed,’ said Aragorn as she squirmed off him to uncover herself. The night air was cool on her skin, and colder between her legs where she was slick with pleasure.

‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘I could not. Not with my brothers in the Company.’ It would have been different, she knew, had this been a formal wedding. Then, they would not have tried to dissuade her. For all that they might love Aragorn like a brother, she was their sister by blood. ‘And I do not think you would truly care for a feather bed,’ she said as she straddled him again. ‘Ranger.’

‘For this I would not,’ he admitted, and she shivered at the feel of his warm hands on her bare thighs. ‘I only miss having the stars above us, but–’ he touched gently at her cheek– ‘though that is a small loss, while I have the brightest one here with me.’

‘Not the brightest, for I would not trade an eternity of sailing the heavens for one lifetime spent walking this earth beside you.’ Her breath choked in her chest, and she blinked away the foggy glimmer of tears.

‘And however long or short that journey may be, I am greatly honoured to have you share it with me.’ His voice was level, his tone grave, yet his hands trembled as they held her.

Their breath hissed sharp between them as she sank down upon him; it was at once simple yet profoundly strange, not unpleasant yet not breathtaking. His hands clung tight to her hips as she moved, seeking for that elusive something that had made his fingers feel so good, seeking without finding, until she thought to reach her own hand down to where they were joined– and found all breath escaping her in a sudden rush.

He hushed her and brought their mouths together, thrusting up as she kept touching herself, and they rocked slowly together, silent and powerful as the river beneath them.

And like the river coming down to the rapids, choppy in its turns, so he suddenly pulled her tight against himself and rolled her down to the deck– and paused, as if held onto the precipice of white foam, a question unspoken yet clear in the tense stillness of his body against hers.

‘It is well,’ she whispered, ‘go on.’ She reached her hand down as he took her, and it was different again, not less good, and she was so close, but she couldn’t– couldn’t quite reach–

With a rough wordless sound he hoisted her hips higher, thrusting deep, and her mouth gasped open around a high wordless sob, her fingertips dancing where she was slick and aching, and yet she _ couldn’t– _

‘Quiet,’ he commanded, and his hand was warm and hard against her mouth, and then– and then she was bursting bright with helpless delight, each new wave rushing upon her silenced against his hand. The surge of her own blood filled her ears with a dull hum, and his mouth was hot and sharp against the side of her neck as he took his pleasure of her.

After, they lay curled around each other, their breaths mingling heated and heavy in the narrow space between their bodies, and they did not yet dare speak. From the shore the sounds of work had not stopped once, yet they seemed louder to her ears in this new silence. She searched within herself, but felt no different, save perhaps more content.

He stroked softly at her cheek. ‘You’re glowing,’ he whispered, and the awe in his voice made her heart ache.

‘Poet,’ she replied, and leaned into the touch.

‘Whenever my lady wife wishes me to be,’ he said and drew her close, his mouth soft and warm on hers.

But what she knew, and what ached newly sharp within her heart, was that she wished one thing above all else: for him to be alive and warm in her arms. And that hope hung on the slim silken thread of chance, as ready to fail as to succeed.

Without speaking, she tucked her bare legs under the cover of his twilight-grey cloak, and so they remained until the night waned into an ashen-pale mockery of dawn.


End file.
